


Caught in the Undertow

by Wargurl83



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas Mixtape 2018, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 11:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wargurl83/pseuds/Wargurl83
Summary: Dean fucked up good when he said "yes".  But now, he wants out.  But can he fight through his own mind to achieve that end?





	Caught in the Undertow

**Author's Note:**

> Holy cow. First fest ever. Thanks to the ProfoundBond Discord for letting me freak out about it and encouraging me to do the challenge. Aleeliah, thank you for betaing this for me, and all of your sweet comments. If it wasn't for you, I would not have the balls to post this. For real.
> 
> The song prompt was "Numb" by Linkin Park.

Dean had really fucked up this time, and he knew it. Hooboy, did he know it. 

Letting Michael in had been a means to an end. It was  _ supposed _ to be temporary. Just long enough to  _ finally _ be rid of Lucifer, once and for all.

Surprise, surprise; Michael had lied.

Now, Dean was a prisoner in his own body. Once again, he had to watch  the hope and joy in his brothers’ eyes die, when Sam realized that Michael had lied and that his older brother had been stolen away from him  _ again _ .

Once again, he had shown himself to be the biggest, self-sacrificing  _ idiot _ in the entire friggin’ universe. The road to hell really  _ was _ paved with good intentions, just like Randy Travis had said.

Once again, he was cut off from the one person he loved the most. Cas.

_Fuck._ He was such a coward when it came to the blue-eyed angel. Anyone listening in on the mental conversation he was having with himself would have been shocked, because _Dean Winchester doesn’t do chick flick moments_ or _talk about his_ _feelings,_ _thank you very much,_ but…

The trouble with being stuck in your own mind was the  _ only _ thing he had to do was think these days. Michael sure the hell wasn’t a great conversationalist (he preferred to flat out ignore Dean), and he didn’t have his normal escape of booze, so yeah. Thinking it was.

He thought a lot about Castiel. The low-level attraction that he always pushed down and away had finally battled its way to the forefront of his thoughts and  _ demanded _ attention from the hunter. He discovered that yes, he really did love the angel. Had for a long time and he was an idiot for trying to deny it, because he really wasn’t fooling anybody.

They all knew it, except for maybe Castiel himself.

Of course, this knowledge only really served to piss him off more since  _ he was stuck in his own goddamn mind _ and couldn’t do a fuckin’ thing about it. Because all he wanted was to grab Castiel, pack up Baby, and disappear for a long fuckin’ time… heh.  Fucking.  _ Anyway... _

First, he had to get Michael the  _ fuck _ out of his body. Not that he had a damn  _ clue _ how to do so, but he had to try, right?

Right.

Fuck.

**

He decided that he wasn’t going to bother trying to talk to Michael - no real reason to, since he’d already broken his promise by taking over his body without Dean’s consent. He had also decided that he wasn’t going to be able to brute-force his way out of this (he had already tried, and got swatted down like a gnat by Michael), so he was going to have to be sneaky.

Since angels didn’t have to sleep, he couldn’t try to exert any control then, but Michael seemed to be distracted of late. Dean couldn’t tell what was going on outside of his own mind, but he did know that Michael didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Dean any longer. Dean used this distraction to start hooking tendrils of control back into his own muscles. An eye twitch here, a muscle tic there, and he slowly started taking his own body back over, a little at a time. He strengthened his control in small ways: plucking non-existent lint off of his jacket sleeve, changing the side that Michael was leaning in a chair, taking that  _ stupid _ fuckin’ hat off and ruffling his hair out of the slicked down mess that Michael liked to keep it in. Little things that could be construed as involuntary, but weren’t.

Dean also started psychological warfare. His goal was to annoy the  _ shit _ out of Michael, and start planting the seed of Michael wishing he was riding anyone else but him.

_ You know, Michael, if you’d just fuck off, I wouldn’t have to keep annoying the shit out of you. You wouldn’t have to listen to me drone on and on about Sammy, or Mary, or anything really. Just think about it! You wouldn’t have to listen to me think so hard about missing  _ Dr. Sexy _ anymore, or booze, or sex, or… _

“For the love of  _ God, _ Dean. Shut up.” Michael had decided that he had enough of Dean’s brand of conversation for the moment, and Dean beat a tactical retreat before the angel decided to smack him back into the blackness.

He was pretty sure that Michael had no idea how much control Dean had gained back, and didn’t know that he was an equal rider in his body, but Dean hadn’t been able to take back full control of his mind yet. Michael’s hooks were well and truly buried deep, and Dean did not want the archangel to have any hold on his body or mind when he finally expelled him. He needed to get back to work.

Dean buried himself deep to find those hooks, and digging through the parts of his mind that he preferred not to see the light of day was akin to being back in hell on the rack. As he dug through the memories looking for Michael’s anchors, he could feel himself becoming numb to what he was having to relive. He started to wonder what the point was fighting back.  _ Who cares? Dad’s been dead for over a decade, Sammy probably finally got to move on, Lisa doesn’t even remember who he is, and… _

A flash of blue eyes.

Right. Cas.  _ Cas _ was the reason he kept fighting. He  _ had _ to get out of here, had to tell him… had to tell him everything…

Dean tried to shake off the numbness that had settled in and force himself to keep going, keep digging. But the further down he dug, the more the numbness sank into him and the less he started to care.  _ Cas doesn’t really care. No one does. You’re just a screw up. You always have been. You fucked up Sammy’s shot at a happy life when you dragged him into looking for your deadbeat father and got Jess killed. Hell, you got  _ Sam  _ killed more than once. You are nothing, Dean. Just a waste of space and air. _

“Hello Dean.”

_ The fuck? How the fuck did Cas get in here? _

“I’m not really Castiel, Dean. Just another figment of your imagination.” Castiel walked around in the blank room they were standing in. He scanned his eyes over the walls, at the memories hung like picture frames. He turned to Dean, squinted and tilted his head to the side. “You still don’t think you deserve to be saved. Why?”

_ Look around man! I know you can see all the fucked-up shit I’ve done! I’m nothin’ but a fucked-up basket case. I’m no good to anyone, maybe I should just let Michael keep riding me. I’m nothin’ but poison! _

“You really think that, don’t you? Even after all this time, all the lives you have saved, you still think of yourself less worthy of being saved than the people you love. Less worthy than the people that you save. You still don’t believe when we tell you that you are worthy. That you are loved.”

Dean clenched his jaw and looked at his feet.  _ What are you? My own personal fuckin’ Jiminy Cricket? _

Castiel looked back at the wall, and took down a picture of Charlie. “Do you remember saving her, Dean?” He handed the picture frame to Dean, who ran his hands down her face, tracing her cheeks. “Do you remember when you asked Gadreel to save her after she saved you from the wicked witch, even knowing that it would mean that he would have to stay in Sam longer? Do you remember when you saved her from the djinn?”

Dean laughed and shook his head.  _ She saved herself from the djinn dream. She had to let her mother go. I was just there for moral support. _

“Moral support that meant that she was strong enough to say goodbye to her mother, Dean. You may not have had a direct hand in it, but you  _ did _ save her.”

_ Yeah well, look where it got her. Dead anyway, in a bathtub, trying to save my ass with that stupid fuckin’ translation of the Book. _

“She knew what she was getting into Dean. She had read all of the books, and had been to Oz. It wasn’t fair, what happened to her, but she knew ahead of time that it could happen.” Castiel looked at the wall again, eyes roaming over the pictures and memories there. “Nothing here will remind you that you are worth saving, Dean. But, perhaps… Here.” Castiel handed Dean a black feather that shone in blues and greens when twisted in the light. “Take this. When the numbness gets too bad, look at this, and remember.” And then he was gone, and Dean was alone in his head once again.

**

After the…  _ interesting  _ conversation he had with himself, Dean decided to get back to work fishing out Michael’s hooks from his mind. He had tucked the feather into his sleeve – the same place that Castiel’s angel blade was – and took comfort in the token. When the numbness tried to take over, he’d pet the feather and move on.

As he sifted through the memories in search of hooks, he began to look at them in a different light than he remembered them. He looked at them as though an outsider might, trying to see why Castiel saved him from Hell all those years ago. His life was laid out like a book for him to see. And he did see. He saw the good, the bad, the joy, and the pain.

He saw it all.

Downy black feathers started to fall around him. As he shifted his awareness and looked at them in wonder, he started to believe. Maybe there was something,  _ someone, _ out there worth living for. Maybe, just maybe, he could be worth the countless sacrifices that had been made for him to live. Maybe…

Maybe Dean really  _ could  _ do this.

Once Dean was satisfied with the seek and destroy mission to dig Michael’s hooks out of him, he sat back on his metaphorical heels and steeled himself for what he knew he had to do next.

_ Poughkeepsie. _

Dean grabbed hold of the silver-white thread – the only one remaining – and  _ pulled _ , dragging Michael’s consciousness into the bunker space he currently stood in. Michael came crashing through the bunker and landed flat on his back in the middle of one of the long wooden tables. He slowly rolled himself off of the table, wiping the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood up.

“So, the gnat wants a fight,” he sneered at Dean.

_ Last chance, dickbag. Get out, or I’ll make you get out. _

“Afraid I’ll have to decline, Dean. I quite like it here, and having you as my vessel is  _ so _ useful. The little rebellion has moved here, and it’s so much fun to…” Michael’s breath left his lungs in a low  _ woosh _ as Dean’s fist connected with his abdomen. Shocked, he struggled to take a breath as Dean’s left fist connected to his jaw with a loud  _ crack. _ Michael tried to bring his arms up to defend himself as Dean grabbed him by the back of his head. Twisting his fingers into Michael's hair, Dean slammed his nose down into his denim-clad knee. Michael gasped, trying to clear his vision as Dean let go of his hair. Dean clenched his jaw and watched impassively as Michael slid to the ground with a low groan, hands clutched to his face.

Dean aimed a final vicious kick to Michael’s lower back as he roared  _ I reject you, you fucking dickbag. You are no longer welcome here, and I want you to GET OUT OF MY FUCKIN’ BODY! _

Dean’s world went white as Michael was forcibly ejected. Light streamed from his mouth and eyes as his body slid towards the ground, arms out to the sides and going to his knees. Dean gasped and looked around to try to figure out where he was as the ground came up to meet him. A black feather floating down in front of his face the last thing he saw.

**

Dean came to a few minutes later with a groan. His limbs felt heavy, and there was a mariachi band playing in his skull. Arms shaking, he pushed himself off the sidewalk he landed on to his knees. He sat back on his heels – what the fuck was he wearing on his feet?!- and looked around. He saw a 24-hour diner down the street and struggled to his feet. He wobbled and listed to the side a little before he was able to start walking, but managed to keep himself from looking like a drunk as he staggered to the diner. If he could get into the diner, he should be able to figure out where he is and call Sam to come get him.

He was able to slid onto a barstool before his legs gave out, and he took a deep breath to settle his nerves. He looked around the diner trying to pick out clues as to his location. His eyes settled on the menu behind the napkin holder. He pulled the menu to him and found the address on the front down near the bottom.

“Fort Smith, Arkansas, huh? What the hell was he doing here?” Dean mused to himself. He shrugged to himself, and looked up to the elderly black waitress that stopped in front of him. He gave her a wan smile. “Ma’am, I’m a bit lost, got turned around trying to find a buddy of mine’s house. Do ya’ll have a phone I can use to call him for directions?”

She gave him a small smile and nodded her head towards the restrooms. “There’s a payphone over there, do you need change?”

Dean gave her a small nod, heat blooming across his checks. She smiled again, and slid a couple of quarters over to him. “Don’t worry about it honey. I’ve been there myself a few times.” She nodded her head over to the phone again and continued, “Go on. Call your friend to come get you. I’ll get you some coffee for while you wait.” Dean tried to argue, but she shook her head. “Coffee’s free here. Go on.” She shooed Dean away from the bar and towards the back and turned away to start a fresh pot of coffee.

Dean shuffled to the payphone and pushed the coins in, and dialed Sam’s number. He prayed that he would pick up.

_ “Hello?” _

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice broke.

_ “Who the hell is this? How did you get this number?” _

“Dude it’s me. Dean.”

Sam scoffed.  _ “Yeah right. I’m going to hang up…” _

“Bitch, don’t you dare hang up.”

There was a long pause, then Sam whispered,  _ “Dean?” _

“Yeah man, it’s really me. Finally was able to push the dickbag out. Uh, can someone come get me? I’m kinda out in the middle of nowhere and got no cash on me to hitch a ride home.” Dean sighed, and ran his hands over his face. “I’m at a diner in Fort Smith, Arkansas.”

A flutter of wings heralded Castiel’s arrival. “Uh, never mind. Guess Cas decided he was gonna come get me himself.” Sam’s watery laugh drifted out of the phone speaker.  _ “See you soon, jerk. Glad you’re back.” _ The line went dead.

Dean replaced the handset in the cradle and turned to the angel standing less than a foot away from him. Always with the lack of personal space. “Hey Cas.”

“Hello Dean.”


End file.
